


Mischief on the Dancefloor

by TARDISflyer124



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asgard, Dancing, Gen, Magic, Pre-Thor 1, Pudding, dance battle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8288537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISflyer124/pseuds/TARDISflyer124
Summary: Set in Asgard, several (hundred) years before the first Thor movie takes place. Contains Teen!Thor and Teen!Loki (or rather younger versions of them both), the latter of whom also happens to dance like Tom Hiddleston.





	1. Chapter 1

Asgardians were rather known for their large, ostentatious celebrations, and for no undeserved reason. Some of the more boisterous crowd had had a lot of practice over long periods of time- some parties could last for several days, or even weeks- and they had gotten very good at it. Sometimes it seemed like they would look for any excuse to bring out the roast duck and date wine, however trivial it may be. There were often extravagant festivities whenever their forces emerged victorious on the field of battle, of course, as well as other things, like a thousandth anniversary or the completion of an updated section of their great city… And then there were the excuses, things like publishing a chapter, catching an especially big fish or Sif’s hair growing another inch. No one complained, however, and somehow every setting-up and taking-down of the revelry just made it more and more popular each time.

Loki was an introvert and generally disliked other people, so when Thor came to his room to tell him of the building festivities, he wasn’t all that enthusiastic. From Loki’s point of view, the all-too-common celebrations were nothing more than a waste of time. It bothered him to see Volstagg and Hogun wolfing down honey cakes and sirloin when they could be doing more productive things, like training or studying. He couldn’t be bothered to try and sway them, however, and knew from experience that they would just laugh in his face and run off to grab another pumpkin loaf if he tried to talk to them about it. Thor’s friends were all like that: unintelligent, noncommittal oafs who would rather smash a book than read it. Loki thought they were a bit of a bad influence on his brother, which he had expressed multiple times, but Thor wouldn’t hear of it. He sometimes claimed that Loki didn’t celebrate  _ enough _ , which only irritated him further. It wasn’t like he  _ didn’t _ participate, he just wasn’t sure it was absolutely necessary to do so all the time.

“Loki...” Came Thor’s voice. Loki ignored him. His brother’s strapping frame leaned against the doorway, muscular arms folded across his chest. He wore a casual navy tunic with red leather around the collar and the belt, a subtle contrast to Loki’s grey tunic with layers of pea-green poking out here and there. Thor’s blue eyes squinted. “Why not?” He asked, brow furrowing.

Loki, sitting upright on his bed, let out a steady breath and closed the book he was reading, something on Jötun physiology and evolution. Those who had bothered to notice thought it was odd that anyone would want to know anything about the very creatures they were brought up fighting besides how to kill them, but he had different ideas. It was quite fascinating, how they thrived on cold- the others had no idea. And in any case, know your enemy. It had been no easy task, finding a book like this, so he wouldn’t have been prepared search for one without a good reason.

“Must I always participate in that meaningless chaos you call a party?” Loki replied coldly, turning his head to fix his brother with an emerald stare. Thor looked exasperated.

“You should come and converse with some of our people for once!” He declared, deep voice seeming to fill the whole room. “You  _ are _ a prince, and I am sure they would be more than willing to return the gesture.”

“And why are you so worried about whether or not I come to your celebrations?” Thor shrugged, blinking at Loki across the ten feet that separated the doorway from his bedside.

“Merely out of concern, Brother.” He ran a hand through his golden-blond locks.  “You should not keep yourself restricted to only this part of the city, much less the castle.”

Loki, uninterested, had gone back to reading his book. “I might come down later if you stop bothering me,” He offered, and Thor grinned.

“Excellent! The cooks have concocted some splendid meatloaf and marvelous wine, and even some pudding… don’t be long!”

“Goodbye, Thor,” Loki replied curtly, without looking at him. Thor leaned back as Loki waved a hand and the door shut itself hurriedly, leaving him in the silence of his room. For few moments, the only noise was that of Thor’s footsteps fading down the hall- but only until Loki sighed and closed his book again, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. It had been of complete chance that Thor had happened to mention pudding, but it wasn’t chance at all that the only reason Loki ever went to parties was usually  _ for _ the pudding and nothing else. He would smuggle it up to his room and eat it on the balcony-  _ by himself _ \- enjoying the weather or reading his books. Only he knew that, of course. Loki set down his book and got up, joints popping as he stretched them.

He wedged the slightly dusty volume back onto the nearest shelf, reaching over to tug a rumpled curtain back into place. Loki’s room was large, elegant and maintained almost entirely by magic, all of which he was proud to say that he’d concocted himself.(A few spatial extensions here and there gave him room for whatever he wished to put in it.) A vast array of books adorned the many shelves that were scattered about the room, their facades of thick spines bearing titles like “Advanced Potion-Making Techniques of the Fourth Century” and “Temporal Lucidity For Use in Combat”. The walls were a soft grey, it’s accents a pleasant olive. The ceiling was a stately eighteen feet, supported by a few pale-stone rafters where Loki sometimes climbed up to read. A square skylight mounted above them poured geometric shards of light onto the floor below. Besides the obvious necessities- a small door to the washroom, for example, or the floor-length mirror in front of which Loki brushed his hair each morning- the walls were relatively unadorned. Relatively, that is, except for the tapestry across from his bed that his mother Frigga had woven for him a few years ago on his birthday. It depicted a younger Loki with his brother, both grinning with their arms slung around each other. He had placed it there specifically so that he could sit up and look at it from his bed.

Two glass doors on the far side of the room spilled rectangular pools of sunlight onto the dark cypress hardwood. Flanked by a pair of round windows and drapes of a light cream, they opened onto a wide balcony and a spectacular view of the Asgardian city, which gleamed merrily in the afternoon light. From there he could see from the gates below to the lively streets and intricate shapes of buildings etched into the earth below, past bending waterways, into the forest and beyond. Past the trees stood grand mountains with snowy peaks, massive steel-grey guards standing watch over the marvelous treasures that lay between them. To the South, the Bifrost extended into the distance, ending only where the rounded form of Heimdall’s Observatory stood perched on the edge of where the ever-moving sea dropped into nothingness. A clear blue sky like that of Thor’s eyes gave way to starry nebulae near the outskirts of the city, creeping inward at nighttime and retreating outward again as the sun rose at dawn. It was a breathtaking sight.

Despite its beauty, he sometimes resented the gleaming panorama before him, a constant reminder of to whom it would eventually belong. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Thor would make a splendid king(though sometimes he had his doubts), he just felt omitted sometimes, erased from the equation that was his brother’s steady- however unfair- ascension to the throne.

Loki shoved the thoughts away and stood silently for a moment before the shelf, head tilted. He could hear the echoes of faraway shouting and laughter and the faint sounds of music filtering through his door, and he pondered what kind of petty excuse for celebration they had invented this time. He scoffed to himself.

A few minutes of thoughtful silence later, Loki eventually did wander down toward the festivities, using his ears as a guide. Tongues of fire flickered quietly in their mounts high on the polished walls, making soft shadows stretch toward Loki as he passed them.

The halls were wide and empty, aside from the occasional armor-clad guard, dressed in bronze with their spears pounded adamantly into the marble beneath them. The few that he did encounter nodded respectfully as he passed them, murmuring such phrases as “my prince,” or “sire,”  and then straightening again like unshakable redwoods. Loki inclined his head in greeting each time as he passed through the palace like a ghost, leather soles making no sound on immaculate marble floors.

He passed out of the hallway near his room, down a wide staircase and through an immense vaulted chamber lined with Corinthian pillars. Gorgeous arches soared high above Loki’s head, and light streamed in from towering faraway windows.

He crossed the room and entered another corridor. Warm yellow light loomed from a hallway down his left as the distant tumult grew steadily louder. The smell of food seeped down the passageway toward it, and he breathed it in tentatively.

He emerged into a splendid, palatial chamber with sunlight streaming in from one end. Divided by the columns, it poured across the floor in wide bands and added natural illumination to the otherwise firelit room. Long tables piled high with food lined both sides of the room, and two stood in the middle, surrounded by the avid figures of his people. Asgardians were drinking and laughing around him, pulling up chairs from the sides of the room and exchanging colourful anecdotes. Loki hoped this would be enough for him to get in and out unseen, sufficient distraction to claim the prize and then make his escape. His eyes swept the room as he made his way into the crowd. Loki stepped over capes and hems and maneuvered around the occasional servant, leaning away from them lest they spill their trays. Occasionally someone would recognize him, sending him a nod or a slight bow, which he returned.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki ran his gaze along the tabletops, scanning them carefully. A meandering sort of tune danced around the room as the Asgardian musicians ended their current piece and began a new one. He had heard this one before a few times and rather liked it, but had no idea of its title. Loki stepped carefully towards his table of choice, mind wandering.

“BROTHAH!” Came a thunderous voice as a huge blond someone came barreling into him. Loki internally cringed, beginning to think he should have used cloaking magic. The fact that he had only just spotted Thor out of the corner of his peripheral was all that stopped him from falling over, though he figured that his brother’s crushing hug would have prevented that anyway.

“Ugh- _Thor_ , release me!” He protested, squirming out of the young god’s grasp. Thor obliged, but only just, managing to keep his hand on Loki’s shoulder until he shrugged it off.

Loki’s gaze drifted from his brother and landed on the other two members of Thor’s party: A towering, rather drunk Volstagg with a plethora of crumbs decorating his beard; and a dark-haired, perpetually cross Sif, who was looking somewhat bored.

“I am glad to see that you have joined the festivities, Brother!” Thor exclaimed, his voice rumbling from his chest. Volstagg beamed in agreement, his grin wobbly.

“I’ll not be staying long,” Loki assured him, moving the last few feet to the table. Thor followed him.

“Ah, but what have you got to lose? Can you not spare a moment?”

“The honey loaf is excellent!” Volstagg chimed in merrily.

“No.” Loki claimed a pudding (using a discrete flurry of magic to make it look like salad) and began searching for utensils, his mouth set in a firm line.

“A shame,” Thor replied. He looked like he was about to say more, but Sif elbowed him impatiently, stealing away his forming sentence.

“Thor, why do you linger? Let us celebrate, we have no need to be here!”

“Sif, do not be unkind to my Brother!” Thor turned slightly to meet her annoyed gaze, “He has much to offer, do you not, Loki?”

Loki sighed and set down his snack for a moment, noting with reluctant gratitude Thor’s defense of him. “That I do, but not if I am preoccupied with trivial things such as this. Could you… leave me alone? Please?”

Thor nodded slowly, while Sif scoffed. “I understand,” he said. “I will leave you to your own devices.” Loki breathed a mental sigh of relief at these words. “But inform us if you change your mind, as we would be happy to join you!” His blue eyes smiled.

“Thank you,” Loki said, and he meant it. He nodded with finality as the three turned away.

Thor grinned and waved one large hand, shouting “I will see you later then, Brother!” Sif stalked indignantly away and Volstagg sauntered after them, swaying slightly.  
The young god let out a breath as he watched them leave. While it was true that Thor had his downsides, the God of Thunder could also be quite the mediator where his friends and family were concerned. This had not escaped Loki’s notice, however it had also not escaped him that the moment any kind of even remotely opposing party- especially frost giants- came into the picture, all his common sense went out the window. He was just reckless like that. Make no mistake, Loki cared for his brother quite enormously- it just wasn’t always such an advantage to have him around, especially in situations that required particularly delicate strategy.

Loki turned back to the table and picked up his disguised pudding, balancing its weight between his fingers. He set his sights on the propped-open doorway through which he had first entered, maneuvering his way through a maze of servants’ trays and warriors’ capes, sliding into the chance openings that appeared between people. Most of the Asgardians still stood around leisurely, talking and laughing, though some had detached from the crowd to sway with the flow of the music.The song ended and Loki was partway to the door. There came an abnormally large gap of silence before a much faster song curled through the air toward him, causing him to turn his head and look back.

He actually paused after that- which was something, according to his original plan, that he should have aimed not to do. But his gaze was met by an interesting sight, and it momentarily held it: A clearing was beginning to form in one corner of the room, near where the musicians sat and stood playing their instruments. People were clotting around the outside of the group, leaving room for the lone blond who moved about the center- a thin man dressed in grey-green fabric that Loki immediately recognized as Fandral, the swordsman.

Loki wasn’t sure what he thought of Fandral, exactly. He was definitely the nicest out of Thor’s friends, but they were still only mere acquaintances. He tended to be loud, but occasionally had his quiet spells- just about Loki’s polar opposite in that respect, who usually kept to himself unless otherwise provoked. Fandral was also very good-looking and charismatic and tended to attract women easily. He was rarely alone. In their youth, he had also been fairly decent to the God of Mischief, and to Loki that was almost all that mattered. He wasn’t sure exactly how intelligent Fandral the Dashing was, in reality- he wouldn’t call him stupid- but at least he wasn’t rude to Loki. Though they had drifted in recent years, the blond had never been as outwardly impolite as many of Thor’s other acquaintances were, and Loki chose to respect him for that, or at least tolerate him.

Fandral was fairly skilled, being a man of copious talents. He could sing, he could play several instruments, and he could use a sword almost better than Loki could.

But this was the first time that Loki had seen him dance.

Most unsurprisingly, the golden-blond god appeared to be fairly talented on this facet as well. This quickly became apparent to Loki as he watched him, tilting his head and frowning ever so slightly. Fandral was grinning slyly and moving about smoothly, his limbs waving in tune to the song. Those around him clapped in encouragement and gradual cheers rose from his audience as he rapidly became the center of attention.

As the beat picked up, Fandral did too, his graceful movements becoming quicker and more spasmodic. A small, derisive smirk crept its way onto Loki’s face and quickly disappeared as his green eyes tracked him. Fandral was very confident in his dancing, and rightly so- however his audacious movements fooled all but Loki.

Incumbently, Fandral spotted him after a few moments and sent him a mildly goading wave. This was not entirely surprising, as the ravenette was taller than many of those swarming around him, and he had un-hunched himself to watch for a moment, effectively nullifying his previous cover. The audience’s gaze quickly followed Fandral’s gesture to Loki, who still held his pudding and looked unwillingly back at them.

“Silver-tongue!” Fandral addressed him loudly, shouting over half the length of the room with his feet still moving. His now not-so-small audience watched with encouragement, whooping and holding up drinks. There was no ceiling to the volume and plenty of yelling already, so the shout went unnoticed by the majority of the room. However it did this while still turning a few heads here and there and adding to Fandral’s steadily growing population of onlookers, who Loki wasn’t sure he was in the mood to entertain.

“Not going to stay and celebrate?” A playful light had made itself at home in Fandral’s blue-grey irises, and Loki cast a wary glance toward it.

“I am afraid so,” He replied, still half-turned toward the exit. The moving crowds still shifted around him, most paying no heed.

“How unfortunate!” The blond called over the music. He spun on his heel and ended in a flamboyant half-bow toward the ravenette, eyes twinkling behind the long bangs that fell upon them. “Am I not _good_ enough for you?” He teased, twirling again and waving his arms about inventively. Loki scoffed.

“Possibly,” he answered, letting vague amusement creep into his voice. “Or maybe it’s your form. Is that a barrel turn I see?”

Fandral grinned, brows arching upward in glee. “Ha ha! Why yes it is! Thank you kindly for noticing!” He straightened for a moment like some proud golden bird, and the crowd around him chuckled.

“It would have been more obvious if your arms were a tad straighter,” Loki hazarded, beginning to enjoy himself. He wasn’t smiling, but the hard, wonted glare he most often wore had left him. All that remained was an expression of vague interest, just enough to keep him where he stood. “Maybe I could demonstrate?”

Fandral paused, and the watching ravenette found himself mildly surprised that the blond’s eyebrows hadn’t floated off his face at this point.

“Ho-oh,” He chuckled, glancing about. His movements stopped fluidly. Fandral’s audience chortled with approval, their presence now forming a noticeable clot in the corner of the room. The music was still arcing around them, but for a moment the blond was still as his amused, interested expression unfolded upon Loki. “Is this a _challenge_ , Silver-tongue?” Several members of the audience cheered at the drama, thrusting their beer mugs toward the ceiling. Loki sighed internally as drops of ale splashed down onto the chiseled floor.

Fandral was grinning at him, stepping slowly to close the gap. “You think... you can do _better_? Than _I_? Than _Fandral_ the _Dashing_???” He looked incredulously at those around him and laughed, and the crowd followed suit.

__This was almost as entertaining as his books, Loki thought, watching the swordsman’s sarcastic narcissism. Almost. He shifted the plate in his fingers, matching Fandral’s stare. Loki smirked vaguely- he could make this fun._ _

__“I guarantee it.”_ _

__Fandral straightened with a delighted grin, spinning once to look around as the gathering clapped and whistled. A tightness from the attention coiled in Loki’s chest as he swept his narrowed gaze over the small yet vehement crowd. A pairing of two portly warriors laughed and shouted through mouthfuls of bread and drink, slapping nearby friends on their shoulders and backs. A group of vaguely interested Asgardian women hovered near the edge of the gathering, tossing snippets of conversation to each other in between distracted glances. Clusters of social regulars blurred together, elbowing and pointing. Some leaned against tables and nearby seating, while others called to Fandral that Loki had no chance. Fandral scoffed at them, attempting what seemed to Loki to be at least partially feigned modesty. But his confidence shot back up again along with his posture when his excited eyes met with the Trickster’s again. The swordsman’s face was split into a wide, prodding grin._ _

__“Show us, then!”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I may take a while to update... but this IS in progress, I swear! I never abandon stories I've committed to.
> 
> Another note: When I say he "generally dislikes other people", don't take that literally. This is Loki's point of view, remember. This isn't too terribly long (on an Asgardian scale of things) before Thor 1, and at this point he already feels like the outcast he is destined to become. He doesn't like other people simply because he doesn't think any of them like him- and he's not entirely wrong. Loki is reciprocating in order to protect himself from the emotional pain of being excluded- and so he excludes himself. Oh look, now I've made myself sad.
> 
> STATUS UPDATE 3/2/2018: I'm not dead! Haha life is crazy, crap happens, and it's hard to tell when ill be able to really sit down and finish it- but overall, this ^ is still a thing. Promise. :)


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